


Do Me A Favour

by Sybariticfanfiction (SybariticReyna)



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, Nonbinary Character, Other, Sharing a Bed, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 13:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybariticReyna/pseuds/Sybariticfanfiction
Summary: Cicero and the Listener express affection for one another in their own ways between missions and brotherhood responsibilities





	Do Me A Favour

**Author's Note:**

> I was almost tempted to tag with w unhealthy relationships because of Cicero's religious devotion for the Listener but I don't think it's quite that bad tbh & they do reciprocate in their own weird way lmao

Cicero doubts anything can surpass the feeling of waking up to his Listener. Their mouth is curled into a divinely vicious grin as they bid him good morning, eyes shining with amusement. They're perched on the edge of his bed, his hat apparently stolen from the bedside table to be messily placed on their own head, and for a moment Cicero doesn't believe he's truly awake. 

  
"Sweet Cicero." They say, patting his cheek. "How are you this fine morning?"

  
Cicero feels a rush of affection through his sleepy haze. "Better now! What does our wonderful Listener need of dear Cicero?"

  
"Well." Their expression shifts, eyes narrowing with anger and easy smile becoming more of a snarl. "I have a favor to ask."

  
Cicero gets onto his elbows, smiling brightly. "What kind of favor? The bloody sort?"

  
"Mmm, close. More like... an intimidation tactic." They hum, moving to brush the hair out of Cicero's eyes. They're a tactile person, something Cicero welcomes wholeheartedly after years of being the only assassin in Cyrodiil. Being shown casual affection, by the  _Listener_  nonetheless, has a grounding effect on him. No longer is he lost in the Void, with only the Nightmother to guide him. They have a network again! They've remembered the tenants! They're a  _Family_.

  
"Cicero?" The Listener asks quietly when he doesn't immediately respond. Their lips pull into a smile as sharp as a dagger and Cicero just  _knows_. Voice sugary sweet and so patronizing, they ask, "Are you still sleepy?"

"Do not tease the Jester, Listener!" He snaps, bringing his hand up to theirs. His fingers dig into their wrist, not hard enough to hurt ( _never enough to hurt the Listener_ ), but enough that they concede not to tease him further.

  
"Of course, all jokes should be left to you." They nod. "But, back to my favor. I could ask Nazir but he has been busy with the new murderers, and Babette is... still visually a child. I know tending to Mother keeps you busy as well, but you are the only one I trust to complete this."

  
Cicero wonders if it is normal to feel like your heart is going to burst when someone says they trust you and your skills. Cicero also wonders, distantly, why none of the previous Listeners inspired such devotion in him. "Who is this person I must intimidate?"

  
"It is "well known" in Riften that a Lady Maven Blackbriar has an understanding with the Family." They make quotations with their fingers, rolling their eyes in a rare display of annoyance. "This woman is so confident in her bonds to the Family that she had the gall to threaten me, as if Mother would ever accept such a contract."

  
Cicero feels a long dormant excitement in his chest. Threaten his Listener? With their own family's name?

  
He wants to make her pay.

  
They clearly pick up on that, chiding, "Cicero, you cannot kill her unless it is necessary. Her son is just as much of an asshole." Cicero snickers at the curse, prompting another smile from his Listener. "Her daughter is nice though. She has an odd fondness for poisons. I think she and Babette would get along if we could recruit her."

  
They get that faraway look that usually means they're planning or Mother is talking to them.

  
He doesn't interrupt, instead simply distracting himself with tracing the lines of their hand. At some point it dropped from his hair to his shoulder, curling around the neckline of his nightshirt. Their knuckles are scarred from years of reckless fistfights, while their palms are callused from their more recent use of the Blade of Woe and their bow.

  
Cicero remembers the bow being drawn on his prone and bleeding form, the anger in their eyes more terrifying than any of those other blasphemous family members. His Listener, the first in so many years, was  _furious_ , and they had every right to be.

  
And despite that, they dropped onto their knees, the same hands that have slaughtered dozens without hesitation glowing gold with healing magic. "I hate you, you stupid clown." They cried, breaking Cicero's heart all over again.

  
Their grip abruptly tightens, bringing Cicero back to the present. "Anyways. Keeper. I ask that you make to clear to her, in any way you see fit, that the Family owes our allegiance to no one. Mother informs me that the Dreadfather is most displeased with her using our name." 

  
Cicero laughs gleefully. "Of course, dear Listener! Sweet Cicero would be honored, and if she does not listen, I will give her to the Void!"

  
Their smile is not a rare sight, but it never fails to make Cicero feel like he's seeing something precious and... cold. Cold like the Void, like the gold that makes their eyes shine ("I'm dragonborn, Cicero, I can hardly help myself," they laugh).

  
"Thank you," They say now, bringing their free hand up to cover their yawn. "Sithis, I am exhausted. I rode all the way here from Riften I was so angry. Mother gave her blessing for this plan, by the way. Can't remember if I mentioned that."

  
Neither can the Jester, so he shrugs. "Do you need help?"

  
"Nah, thanks though." They lean forward, waiting for Cicero to nod his assent before kissing his forehead. They still smell like a pine forest, apparently not even bothered to change before seeking him out. "Sweet Cicero, keep yourself safe, and teach her to  _fear us_. Any arraignment she had with Astrid is as dead the mistress herself." The words are nowhere near sweet talk, but the way they whisper them prompts a shudder.

  
Cicero has never been easily flustered, especially since becoming Keeper, but they manage it anyway. It's... infuriating. Exhilarating too.

  
They get to their feet, brushing invisible debris from their armor before heading out. "I expect good news when you return from Riften!" They call over their shoulder. 

  
It takes Cicero a moment to absorb their quick departure (they didn't even return his  _hat_ ) and the first mission he has had in years. 

  
To say he is excited would be like saying Sithis is dark.

 

* * *

  
They're resting in the dining room when Cicero returns, wrapped in a blanket that is dangerously close to the fireplace. Babette is at the table, grinding potions while they converse.

  
"--till haven't told me if we're going to start the Blackhand up again."

  
"You can have another frostbite spider if she doesn't creep into my bed. And I told you, I'm still thinking about the whole Blackhand thing. Lachance and I discussed it, but it doesn't seem like we need to establish such a... division until we've grown." The Listener sounds more relaxed than when Cicero left, but still annoyed by Babette's prodding.

  
Babette has always been a mystery to Cicero. The way she vacillates between acting three hundred and acting ten seems to have no rhyme or reason. "She  _liked_  you!" The vampire whines insistently. "I wanna be a Speaker. Nazir can be my Silencer."

  
Cicero bites back a comment on how one has to be worthy to be a Speaker, while the Listener just laughs. "If you're a Speaker then so is Nazir."

  
Babette hisses. "You--" She glances around, as if trying to find inspiration for an insult. Instead she spots Cicero lurking at the top of the stairs. "Oh great. Your clown is home."

The Listener scrambles to turn away from the fire and get up at the same time, repeating, "My clown?"

  
"My Listener!" Cicero returns, smiling widely.

  
Their face splits into a bright smile before they launch themself at him, quick as anything but as graceful as a horker.

  
Cicero welcomes the embrace, although it almost sends the both of them onto the stone floor.

  
"How did it go, Keeper? Did she see reason or did you get to kill her?" Despite their instructions before, they seem more excited by the idea of Cicero killing her.

  
"She did agree to cease, but sweet Cicero is waiting for her to go back on that. She's a bratty thing, isn't she?" He says, wrapping his arms around their neck. They're pressed about as close as they can get, and Cicero revels in the contact. 

  
"Oh, definitely.  _Thank you_  for teaching her some manners," They have one hand resting on his waist and the other cupping his cheek.

  
From an outsiders view they could very easily be lovers reunited, whispering cloyingly sweet greetings instead of two murderers relishing in a kill.

  
Babette gags. "At least have the decency to get a room! There are  _children_  present."

  
Cicero is sent into a peal of laughter, only made worse when the Listener blushes and pulls away. "Shut up, you tiny she-devil." They say with no actual anger, folding their hands behind their back.

  
Babette's mouth twists like she's trying her best not to laugh at her Listener (she fails miserably). "My apologies, Listener." She says mock formally.

  
They don't seem appeased, but they are comforted enough to grab Cicero's hand again as they make their way back to grab their blanket before moving to their bedroom. "Good bye, Babette!"

  
Babette mumbles something about having poisons less repulsive than them, but they don't bother to respond. "You look tired, Cicero." They say instead, glancing back at him with wide, worried eyes. "Did you even rest?"

  
(Cicero used to hope that Sithis would allow him to dance in the Void, but every time they look at him it becomes apparent that he should be praying the Dreadfather allows him to stay with his Listener)

  
Whereas most people would be embarrassed, Cicero freely admits, "I wanted to tell you the news as soon as possible! Cicero has not slept since he left!"

  
They huff. "Didn't I say to be careful?"

  
Cicero shrugs. "You did, but Cicero is not known for listening."

  
Title based puns never fail to make them laugh, and this time in no different. "Oh my god." They use their joined hands as a fist to punch Cicero in the stomach. "Punch" being used very loosely, because Cicero wouldn't have noticed if they hadn't used his hand.

  
"What a cruel Listener!" He says dramatically. "Hitting dear Cicero!"

  
Their shoulders tremble but they don't laugh. They guide him to their bedroom, releasing his hand to motion towards the wardrobe. "Get out of those bloody clothes and tell me how your mission went." They say.

  
They mean "put on night clothes and come cuddle me." Cicero understands. 

  
They eye him lazily from the bed, apparently channeling their inner dragons. Sharp and attentive but still managing to look bored.

  
Cicero would be self conscious if they didn't eye everyone like that.

  
They wrap their arms around him as soon as he's near enough, pulling him down to their level. "Sweet Cicero." Their voice sends a shiver down his spine. "I was worried you know."

  
"There was no need." He laughs, hesitant to respond to their embrace. How blessed is he by the Nightmother to have the Listener holding him. To have them smiling at him, their warmth surrounding him.

  
They're oblivious to this reverent thought process, asking, "Did you at least have fun? I know you get sick of being Keeper instead of a murderer. Although you didn't get to kill anyone." 

  
They say it without a hint of malice, taking the edge off the guilt in Cicero's gut. He should by all means be content as Keeper, but it's true he misses the thrill of a contract, misses being able to fulfill the most basic of Dark Brotherhood duties.

  
"I did!" He assures them, barely noticing the switch from third to first person. "It was... nice. Getting out of the Sanctuary."

  
"Without a werewolf chasing you down?" They tease, one hand moving to trace the lacy silver scars that stretch from neck to shoulder. Wounds that they healed.

  
"Mangy mutt." He grumbles.

  
Their smile is worth the reminder of what might just be the worst day of his career. "You fought so valiantly. I only hope you defend my honor with the same fervor."

  
Cicero brings a hand up, cupping their face and relishing in the fact he's allowed to do such a thing, "Of course, Listener. I would face all the hounds of Whiterun for you."

  
Their lips twist into a more embarrassed grin, clearly not expecting such an answer. From Cicero nonetheless. Their mouth opens then closes with a frustrated click of the teeth. They aren't used to not being able to finds words.

  
"Cat got your tongue?" He teases.

  
Cicero watches their eyes harden and turn predatory, their voice dipping into something rough and powerful, "Careful, Keeper. That's twice today."

  
It's all in good fun, he knows, while  _they know_  it makes Cicero's heart race beneath their fingertips. He never forgets how dangerous they are, but the reminder is... nice.

  
Nice enough to steal the air from his lungs and short circuit his entire train of thought. He had a follow-up joke for that, but it seems to have disappeared. 

  
They run the tips of their nails on his scarred neck, the merciless cold melting into a pleased smirk as they take in his reaction. "Go to sleep, Cicero." They finally say, annoyed and affectionate.

  
He amends his earlier statement. Even better than waking up to his Listener is falling asleep next to them.


End file.
